<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>when you feel bad about what you've done by ollyollyoxenfree (onionblossomhorseradish)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832751">when you feel bad about what you've done</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/onionblossomhorseradish/pseuds/ollyollyoxenfree'>ollyollyoxenfree (onionblossomhorseradish)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Getting Together, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Alternating, Post-Episode: s01e06 Rare Species, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 22:09:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,445</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832751</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/onionblossomhorseradish/pseuds/ollyollyoxenfree</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier hopped down from the table he had been standing on, and wound his way quickly through the crowd to Geralt’s side, smiling up at him big and bright and like nothing had ever happened.<br/>Geralt remembered the last words he’d exchanged with the bard, tone cruel and desperate and bitter. He could see Jaskier’s face as he said them. That feeling in his chest tightened and twisted and writhed uncomfortably.</p><p>-</p><p>I've seen so many angsty takes on Geralt and Jaskier navigating their fight on the mountain, but I really wanted to come at that idea from a different angle. So, Geralt feels super bad about everything he said on the mountain and is EXPECTING a huge blowup from Jaskier, but then Jaskier just forgives and forgets like it's nothing and they're travelling together again like usual and why does Geralt still feel kinda shitty about all this?</p><p>Basically, Geralt learns about feeling guilty, and how sometimes apologies are as much for yourself as they are the other person.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>779</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. luck and timing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This chapter turned out like twice as long as the next one did, so don't keep your expectations high after this. I got really into writing the drowner hunt, I guess!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Since the first time Jaskier had barged his way into Geralt’s life, their respective paths had been wandering, twisting, lines. They would meet up, travel together for a time, and drift apart again. Sometimes it was Geralt who would leave, taking on a contract too dangerous for Jaskier, and sometimes it was Jaskier who would veer off, called by his own responsibilities to some royal palace too stuffy and too void of monsters for Geralt’s liking. But no matter how long the twin lines of their lives diverged for, they would always, eventually, tangle back together.</p><p>And then Geralt had gone and ruined it all.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The sky was damp and heavy and gray above him as Geralt worked. Icy droplets of water, rain long ago fallen but still clinging to the foliage, soaked into his armor as he shouldered through the brush. The ground under his feet was soggy and mushy, and where he wasn’t sinking into thick mud he was squelching across spongy moss. He sniffed the air, letting his mouth fall open like a panther on a hunt, tasting the loam, the petrichor, the salty, dead-kelp smell of the sea nearby, and the unmistakable stench of death.</p><p>He made his way out of the treeline, pushing his way free of the damp undergrowth and onto the bank of the river delta.</p><p>Both the smell of salt and of death were stronger along the shoreline, sharp and unpleasant on his tongue. A cursory glance down the sandy bank drew his eyes towards the source - a smear of red by the water’s edge. One of the village’s missing fishermen, he was sure.</p><p>Listening intently for any shift in the rush of brackish water, Geralt made his way over to the body. Up close, the scent was stronger, giving him more information. The blood was old, curdled and clotted on the sand, half-washed away into the tide. The man’s body had been cracked open gracelessly, pelvis to sternum, organs already gone. Scavengers always went for those first, the soft body parts, the eyes, lips, guts - but this was not the work of stray dogs or vultures, not with the cracks that travelled up and through the man’s rib cage. Geralt hadn’t really had a doubt in his mind that it was drowners the villagers were dealing with, but now he knew for certain.</p><p>Geralt took one last look at the mess, wavering between mentally considering it a <em> corpse </em> and a <em> man </em> and a <em> pile of meat </em>, noting how the smell of death and iron was growing rancid, how blood had pooled and purpled in the low points where the body touched the sand. It had been long enough ago that the things responsible for this killing were gone, and now he would have to track them down.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Witchers, contrary to popular belief, <em> did </em> have feelings. It was just that Witchers were not particularly… <em> skilled </em>at them. </p><p>Geralt’s training was never in abstracts. Understanding his own head or heart were not useful things. He knew the weight of a well-balanced sword in his palm, how to pull magic from the world and bend it to his will, the sound of a heavy-footed creature trying not to be heard in the woods. He did not know emotion.</p><p>So, while he had feelings, he tended to pay little attention to them, letting them do what they would while he focused on what <em> did </em> matter. For the most part, he treated them like an annoying but harmless tag-along. He had no particular interest in understanding them, and so he didn’t try very hard to.</p><p>This might not have been the most convenient way to handle things, Geralt realized, in retrospect, because it meant that it was easy for his emotions to sneak up on him. They were a hum left ignored in the back of his mind until the moment they became a deafening roar.</p><p>He had let Jaskier into his life much the same way he let his feelings in - with a silent tolerance that grew larger and fonder before he could catch it. It was just that, one day, he noticed the way that having someone to talk to shortened the long trips between villages, the way that it was easier to fall asleep with another heart beating warm nearby. </p><p>He had realized far too late that he actually <em> enjoyed </em> the bard’s company.</p><p> </p><p>And then came <em> The Mountain </em> - as Geralt had taken to calling it in the privacy of his own mind, not that he was being dramatic about it. The mountain, The Dragon Hunt, The Time He Was A Complete And Absolute Dick To Jaskier And For Once The Bard Seemed To Take It To Heart.</p><p>It’s not like they’d never split up on poor terms before. It had been plenty often that their paths diverged because one or the other had gotten fed up and snapped (usually it was Geralt snapping at Jaskier). But eventually they would meet up and settle back into a rhythm, and one would decide to tag along with the other for a while again (<em> always </em> it was Jaskier tagging along with Geralt).</p><p>But Geralt had known he fucked up the moment the words left his mouth. Or, well, not that moment, per-se, but maybe the moment the words reached Jaskier’s ears. He could see on the Bard’s face he had gotten too personal, gone too far - but he was too wrapped up in everything, his own bruised pride, to go back on his words. And anyway, he had said and done much worse to Jaskier and the man had still always been able to see that Geralt didn’t really mean it, had always come back to him and smoothed things over and put things back to normal. He would shake it off, like he always did, come back to Geralt.</p><p>Right?</p><p>But that time at the mountain, it had been different. Jaskier packed up. Geralt packed up. They went their separate ways without so much as another glance.</p><p>They had parted on sour notes before, but ever since that day on the mountain there had been a niggling, dreadful feeling in Geralt’s stomach that this time might have been it. That he might’ve driven the man off for good.</p><p> </p><p>It had been a couple months, maybe more than that, Geralt was not one to pay too much attention to emotion <em> or </em> time, and that tense, dreadful feeling in his gut had yet to go away.</p><p>Geralt was starting to get annoyed.</p><p>It didn’t help that fate was taking its damned sweet time bringing them back together.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Geralt was getting increasingly cranky and the weather was getting increasingly worse as he failed to track down his drowners. The wind had picked up, and brought with it more rain, joining the seaspray getting caught up and spat into Geralt’s face as he searched the water’s edge. The river here was wide where it bled into the sea, spread like a hand reaching out to touch the salt water, myriads of small sandy islands between each finger. Geralt did not want to wade out to each of them, looking for his prey, but it was starting to become clear that was the only way he was going to find them.</p><p>He took in a deep, searching breath once more, the smell of salt and kelp so strong now that it was cloying. He was hoping to smell drowners, hoping to smell them somewhere that wasn’t cut off from him by yards of water, but he had no such luck.</p><p>Instead, he saw movement out on one of the small, silty islands interrupting the river’s flow. Humanoid figures crouched low to the sand. They were definitely what he was looking for, and he would definitely need to swim to reach them.</p><p>He grunted a sigh, left what he could of his kit on the bank to keep it dry and hopefully safe, and stepped into the water. It was cold, and kicked-up sand swirled around his ankles. He trudged on.</p><p>He waded for as long as he could, unable to stay as quiet as he wanted to in the water, praying his splashing wouldn’t alert the drowners. When the water came up to hit his chest, icy and pulling with the tide, he hissed. A few feet of swimming, fighting against the river current, and his feet hit the silty bottom again as it swelled up to meet the island. There were four drowners, he saw now, milling about on the island. </p><p>He crept closer, staying low and out of their line of sight, each step taking him closer to the shore, water churning around his calves. His fingers itched to draw his sword, but he held his breath and kept his patience for the right moment to make himself known.</p><p>And then he slipped on a rock underfoot, and shot a hand out to keep himself from falling flat into the water.</p><p>The splash was enough to make all four drowners look up, eyes immediately on him.</p><p>“Fuck,” Geralt said, and heaved himself out of the water the rest of the way, to hell with stealth. Seawater poured off of him, caught on his soaked armor and weighed his clothes down. He ignored it, unsheathed his silver sword, and readied a Quen in front of himself with nimble fingers.</p><p>He ducked the first drowner’s leap, deflected the second’s attack and landed a glancing blow against it as it lunged, rolled away from the third and--rolled directly <em> into </em> the fourth. It swiped at him, claws scraping against leather and metal and glowing amber magic, breaking through the shield he had cast on himself. Geralt swung at the drowner, at the arm outstretched to grab him, and felt a satisfying cracking give as his sword connected with the necrophage’s arm.</p><p>He rolled out of the way again, aware of his lack of shielding now, feeling a little naked without it. This time when he brought his hand up to scrawl magic into the air, though, he made a different shape with his fingers, pushing his palm out with a shower of sparks and fire. He felt the heat in front of him, heard the hiss and sizzle as the rain hit a wave of fire that had not been there before. He hit three of the four drowners at close range with it, the fire quickly sputtering out on their slimy, damp skin, but clearly it had done the damage it needed to. The drowners reeled back, hissing. The air was smoky with the scent of burnt flesh, and Geralt took his chance, striding forward a wide pace, two, bringing his sword and his momentum with him and cutting down the closest drowner before it could get out of the way.</p><p>It hit the sandy ground with a heavy thud, an arcing spatter of blood hitting Geralt square in the chest.</p><p>The second closest drowner lunged, a snarl curling on it’s cold blue lips. Geralt snarled back, blocking the first attack with a quick move of his sword, dodging the very next strike with a twist, and then finally countering with a brutal stab, the whole force of his bodyweight driving behind his sword as it found it’s target, squelching into the creature’s torso. The drowner, stunned for a moment with pain, stood still, and Geralt drew the sword back and struck again, finishing the beast off.</p><p>Two down, two to go.</p><p>The last drowner Geralt had singed was his next closest target, the fourth still pacing back far out of Geralt’s reach. The closest drowner screeched a terrible sound and leapt, and Geralt twisted out of the way only slightly too slow. He heard more than felt the creature’s claws against his armor, the screech of nails against metal. If there had been pain blooming along with that hit, he didn’t notice it, yet, and he didn’t have time to worry over whether or not he was injured. He elbowed the drowner in the head, pushing it back so it couldn’t put its very sharp teeth to good use, and so he could get the angle he needed to finish it off. He heaved his increasingly heavy sword up, readying a wide, powerful blow. The Drowner recovered from it’s hit faster than he anticipated, though, and Geralt’s arms, heavy from swimming and the effort of doing everything with a few extra pounds of water soaked into his clothes, were slower than they should’ve been. The drowner lunged, Geralt’s sword swinging into the sand instead of it, and he felt the wind get knocked out of him as the drowner landed a hit, toppling him backwards onto the damp earth.</p><p>It was never good to be on the ground in a fight.</p><p>Geralt rolled, kicking and tossing the drowner off of him immediately. He scrambled up in a spray of sand. The drowner was still on the ground, crouched animal-like and ready to pounce, and it reached out before he could react to curl sharp fingers around his ankle. Geralt could feel the beast’s long claws digging into his skin, scraping against the bone. He brought his other foot down on the drowner’s head, hard, and felt it crack underneath his sole.</p><p>He paused to take a heavy breath, still feeling the sting across his ankle where the drowner had cut him, and then realized with a horrible thrill that he didn’t have eyes on the fourth drowner anymore.</p><p>He looked up, heart beating a panicked rhythm, and his eyes met with the final drowner’s across the width of the island. It was on the other end, near the water’s edge, and it was just staring, eyes bulging.</p><p>Then it turned towards the water.</p><p>“Fuck!” Geralt growled, launching into a run. It was bad enough fighting drowners without a shred of cover, but at least they were on land. If the drowner made it to the water, he wouldn’t stand a chance. He’d have to let it go and track it back down again, and Geralt <em> really </em> did not want to extend the length of this job any longer.</p><p>So he did something very stupid, and tackled the drowner.</p><p>It let out a piercing shriek as he hit it and they both were knocked to the ground, landing half-in the shallows of the shore. The drowner kicked up salt water and sand as it struggled to get away, and then turned, a vile rage-filled expression on its face. Geralt realized he was far closer to those jagged, razor teeth than he wanted to be, but it was too late. The drowner bit down hard on his gloved hand, and he could feel the teeth go right through the leather and into his arm. Geralt swore, and kicked the drowner, twisting his arm out of its mouth, the action only pulling the wound worse. He stumbled backwards, and up, hastily shaking the blood off of his arm and reaching for his sword. The drowner was a smart one, and still had it’s mind set on escape, not revenge. It struggled up, thrashing in the shallow water, and tried again to flee, to run away into the brackish tide.</p><p>Geralt was on it before it could, landing a blow heavy and uncoordinated to its back. It was sloppy, and the drowner screamed and hissed but still managed to struggle to its feet and take off, splashing, limping, pulling itself deeper into the water.</p><p>Geralt ran after it, the drag of the water against his legs slowing him, each churning footstep splashing water up into his face, the salt and sand of it stinging where it hit open wounds. He was breathing hard, soaked and bloodied, and the goddamn drowner was putting space between them.</p><p>Geralt cursed, reached a desperate hand into his boot, mangled from the last drowner’s attack and slick with seawater and blood, fingers curling around cold metal. He pulled out the dagger he was looking for without any flourish, and just as the drowner made it out into the current proper, only inches away from disappearing into the dark black surf, he threw it.</p><p>The dagger hit the drowner square in the spine, right between the shoulder blades. It glinted, and then disappeared with the entirety of the drowner’s limp body, pulled under and away by the tide.</p><p>Geralt just stood there, water rushing around his knees, for a good long moment, letting his breathing even out.</p><p>Well, that wasn’t exactly how he wanted things to go. He was already trying to remember how much that dagger had cost him, and how much a new one would be. And while the drowner hadn’t escaped, he wasn’t going to see its corpse ever again, so that was a four drowner job, but he would only be getting paid for the three heads he brought back.</p><p>Geralt huffed out a frustrated growl.</p><p>He shook himself, trudged out of the water, and over to the three remaining drowner corpses. He cut off their heads without grace, sawing through gristle and spinal column quickly and artlessly, and swam back with his trophies spilling a trail of blood through the water behind him.</p><p> </p><p>By the time he was on the road back to town, the gray sky was dimming further. The rain had let up for now, but the clouds were keeping their stranglehold on the sky above him. The air grew colder as dusk crept in, and Geralt, who usually ran like a furnace and was very unused to the feeling, was shivering cold, gooseflesh pricking his skin where it met damp air.</p><p>Goddamned drowners.</p><p>His knees went a little weak with relief when he was close enough to the village to smell woodsmoke on the air and see firelight glinting through the sparse woods. He only had to push his aching body a little further.</p><p>And then he heard it.</p><p>
  <em> ...a coin to your witcher, oh valley of plenty… </em>
</p><p>Geralt had been waiting for the day he would come across Jaskier again, worried in fact that it might never come. But the relief of hearing the bard’s familiar voice was overridden by that twisting, uncomfortable feeling in his gut, and he was not up for an awkward conversation, not now. In fact, he was not sure he was even going to be graced with an awkward conversation. Maybe Jaskier was just going to turn tail and run at the sight of him, or curse him out, or--</p><p>Fate had <em> terrible </em> timing. Geralt was not in the mood for any of this.</p><p>But it was getting dark out, Geralt was soaked in blood and salt water, and he was weary and cold to the bone. Avoiding the inn was not an option. He set his jaw, ignored the fluttering in his gut that felt like the moment before a fight, and stepped up to the door to the tavern.</p><p>He stood for a moment, listening. Yes, that was certainly Jaskier’s voice, and his playing, and even his lute - it had its own unique sound, one that Jaskier had always waxed poetic about, one that only the finest elven luthiers could hope to manufacture.</p><p>Geralt pushed open the door to the inn.</p><p>He was hit immediately by the noise, the warmth, the light, the <em> cheer </em>. The warm scent of a happy crowd, plentiful drink, and good hot food. Jaskier was always a master at the art of riling crowds up, and the crowd in the inn was no challenge, singing raucously along to his song, spirits high.</p><p>For a moment, Geralt just watched the vignette in front of him, the tavern bathed in the warm yellow glow of lantern light and hazed over with woodsmoke, relaxed and unwitting. People acted differently around witchers, so to see a whole inn’s worth of people unaware of his presence, lacking for once the undercurrent of fear and the glances and the whispers that always accompanied Geralt’s presence, to see Jaskier so innocently in his element, unaware of the white wolf outside the door...</p><p>Geralt stomped the mud off of his boots, stepped over the threshold, walked up to the bar, and unceremoniously dropped the trio of drowner heads down on it.</p><p>The spell was broken as the crowd turned at the thump. Jaskier’s song was ending, the final few chords aborted into an off-key muffle as he turned to see what was going on.</p><p>“Your drowner problem is taken care of,” Geralt said.</p><p>The inkeep grabbed a purseful of coin from behind the counter and, navigating carefully around the decapitated heads between him and the witcher, handed it over.</p><p>“Speak of the devil!” Jaskier cried out, behind him “Everyone, I would like to introduce you to the white wolf himself, Geralt of Rivia!”</p><p>Geralt blinked. He turned to look at Jaskier, and the bard was grinning, arms outstretched, his lute in one hand and the other gesturing grandiosely towards Geralt. He was breathing a little heavy still, from the energetic end of his last song, eyes bright and full of the energy that he seemed to pull from the crowd like a plant soaking up sunlight.</p><p>“Well, give him a round of applause! He just cured you of your drowner issue!” Jaskier prompted with a wave, and the crowd didn’t need much encouragement to roar back to excited, drunken life, cheering to the drowner’s death, surely relieved to have something to pay attention to other than Geralt’s damp presence.</p><p>Jaskier hopped down from the table he had been standing on, and wound his way quickly through the crowd to Geralt’s side, smiling up at him big and bright and like nothing had ever happened.</p><p>Geralt remembered the last words he’d exchanged with the bard, tone cruel and desperate and bitter. He could see Jaskier’s face as he said them. That feeling in his chest tightened and twisted and writhed uncomfortably.</p><p>Geralt must’ve grimaced visibly at the memory, as Jaskier’s smile for a moment faltered.</p><p>“Geralt, are you alright?”</p><p>Geralt blinked himself back to his senses, “It was a tough fight.”</p><p>That seemed to placate something in Jaskier, and his smile returned with full force, “Oh, witcher, it’s been too long.” His eyes wandered across Geralt’s muddy armor, catching on the blood that joined the seawater on his skin. “Oh, Geralt, you’re hurt! Why didn’t you say?”</p><p>“I’m--” but before Geralt could protest, Jaskier was gingerly holding his bloodied arm, and fussing, and talking mostly to himself about whatever was on his mind, and everything was back to normal between them.</p><p>Geralt should feel relieved. But that off feeling in his chest was still there.</p><p>“Oh this just won’t do,” Jaskier tutted, clicking his tongue, “Innkeep! A bath, a fresh meal, and a cold drink for the vanquisher of beasts, if you would! And I’d be inclined to waive my fee if a good man such as yourself treated your village’s hero to your finest,” He added, with a wink.</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt tried.</p><p>“Oh, hush, I know you’re hungry.”</p><p>Geralt bit back another protest.</p><p>Jaskier then turned to the crowd - the man was a constant blur of energy and activity and words and it was a little too much for Geralt to track all the time - “Dear audience, I am so sorry, but now that my dear witcher has returned victorious from his hunt, I must take my leave! But please, remember the battering he took on your behalf, and please, drink to the health and safety of us all!”</p><p>This got the crowd going again, despite the fact that it meant a definitive end to the music. Jaskier dashed off to retrieve his lute and rucksack, while Geralt still stood at the bar, still a little shell-shocked. The innkeeper came back, a mug of ale in one hand and a hot plate of meat and vegetables in the other, and handed them both to Geralt.</p><p>“The bath’s already up in your room. Thank you so much for taking care of those drowners.”</p><p>Jaskier bounded up, “So you <em> do </em> have a room here! Wonderful, I’ve not rented one yet, we can share and save the coin!” </p><p>Jaskier took it upon himself to snatch both plate and mug away from Geralt and start herding him up the stairs, “Come on now, up you go. You look like a drowned cat.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Ahh, nice and homey,” Jaskier announced as Geralt led him into his room, nose wrinkled. Geralt had the presence of mind to feel a bit embarrassed by the state he’d left the place in, evidence of the morning’s hurried hunt preparation spread everywhere, the bed unmade, dirty clothes piled haphazardly on the floor.</p><p>“Sorry,” Geralt explained, “Wasn’t expecting company.”</p><p>“Clearly,” Jaskier clucked, “You really need my help more than you let on, even if it’s only my services as a housemaid.”</p><p>Geralt grunted and began to take his soaked armor off. With each piece of gear he dropped to the ground, he felt better, more alive - literal weight off of his shoulders.</p><p>Jaskier set the food and drink down on the lone table, nudging aside empty glass bottles and bundles of herbs to do it.</p><p>“Good thing I’m here now,” Jaskier said, and immediately started to tidy.</p><p>Geralt toed off his boots, watching Jaskier flit about, corking bottles of salve and oil Geralt had left open, herding piles of dusts and powders back into their vials, stacking herbs and bones and teeth. Geralt stared at him with mounting concern and an increasing itchy urge to tell him to <em> stop touching his stuff </em>, but then Jaskier actually started to tuck away ingredients as he worked, and somehow he remembered, because he was putting everything right back where it belonged.</p><p>Geralt shook himself and made his way over to the bath.</p><p>It’s always disorienting, right after a job, to get back to normal. It was hard getting used to days spent in the dangerous wilderness, senses on high alert, amped up on potions or adrenaline or both, attuned only to the monsters that could be lurking around every corner, and then come back to town. It took him a while to settle down, to switch modes. He had his little routine, though he was loath to admit it - take off his armor, get himself clean, dress his wounds, clean his gear, and then go look for the next job.</p><p>Jaskier’s appearance had thrown a bit of a hiccup into his routine. Of course, Jaskier knew Geralt’s usual routine by now, and he wasn’t actually getting in the way of it - in fact, he was helping hurry it along, what with the bath he’d called and the tidying he was doing.</p><p>It was more that Jaskier’s presence had thrown Geralt off-course, had woken up a whole tangle of <em> feelings </em> Geralt did not understand and did not want to pick apart, and apparently he had been wrong about those emotions in the first place. Geralt was a little shocked by how easily Jaskier slipped back into their normal routine, after everything.</p><p>Geralt peeled his clothes off and sunk gratefully into the bath, letting it shake the salt and sand and blood from his skin. Maybe Geralt had been wrong to worry like he had. The idea bit with shame, that he’d been - so to speak - making mountains out of molehills the entire time, that he had managed to work himself up into this frenzy when Jaskier was apparently unphased by everything. Witchers weren’t supposed to worry, and certainly not <em> unnecessarily </em>.</p><p>Geralt grimaced.</p><p>Jaskier, oblivious to all of the <em> thinking </em> Geralt was doing, went about gathering up the dirty armor Geralt had unceremoniously scattered across the ground, piling it up with the rest of Geralt’s laundry.</p><p>The hot water was slowly taking the chill out of him, seeping it out like a toxin leaving his system. It stung at the scrapes and cuts he’d earned today, and the bite on his arm blossomed pink into the water as she shifted.</p><p>“So,” Jaskier said, and Geralt heard more than saw him settle down on a stool next to the tub, lingering in Geralt’s peripheral vision, “you’ve been awfully quiet. I mean, you’re usually awfully quiet, but this is even quieter than usual, so I must ask, are you alright?”</p><p>Jaskier shifted a little, just barely in Geralt’s blindspot. Geralt did not allow most people to stay out of his line of sight like this, but Jaskier was not most people, and the bard seemed to have noticed and decided to take full advantage of it.</p><p>“Just tired,” Geralt sighed, “It was a long job. Fucking cold, too.”</p><p>“Three drowners enough to tire you out?” Jaskier prodded, voice light, “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were getting old.”</p><p>Geralt stretched in the tub, wriggled himself down a little further into the water. “It was four.”</p><p>“You didn’t get paid for four,” Jaskier said, and though Geralt couldn’t see him, he knew the bard was narrowing his eyes and scrunching up his nose, making that face he always made when he was up in arms about an injustice he believed Geralt had faced.</p><p>“Lost the fourth corpse - no head, no proof,” Geralt shrugged, sloshing a little water over the edge of the tub.</p><p>“Hmm,” Jaskier said, and ducked to grab a pail from the floor and fill it with water.</p><p>Geralt sighed as Jaskier took it upon himself to gently pour the water over his muddied hair, valiantly attempting to work the tangles out of it.</p><p>“...It wasn’t the drowners so much as all the swimming it took to track them down, anyway.”</p><p>Jaskier looked up, a quiet chuckle in the back of his throat, clearly surprised but pleased that Geralt had actually <em> volunteered </em> information about one of his hunts.</p><p>“You like baths way too much for someone who’s such a terrible swimmer,” Jaskier teased.</p><p>“I’m not a terrible swimmer,” Geralt waved his arm in protest, “I just prefer hot water.”</p><p>The movement of Geralt’s arm caught Jaskier’s attention, “Oh, Geralt, I forgot--”</p><p>Geralt was about to make some excuse, but the protest died out as Jaskier dashed up and away, rifling through saddlebags for salve and bandages.</p><p>“Doesn’t hurt to clean it up, now does it? Even with your magic healing.” Jaskier chided, and returned to the side of the tub to grab his arm with graceful fingers and dab the water and blood away.</p><p>Geralt didn't tell him he <em> was </em> going to clean it, magic healing or not, just let Jaskier get on with it, let him scoop out some salve that smelled like bitter root and honey and spread it across the wound. It stung as it went on, but Geralt bit down the hiss in his throat. Jaskier wrapped a clean cloth around the wound with gentle hands, tying it just tight enough. Then he gave it a soft pat for good measure.</p><p>Geralt just watched him as he worked. Jaskier was acting the same as he always was, no hint of bitterness or grudge-keeping.</p><p>“There you go, good as new,” Jaskier said, “Or mostly, at least.”</p><p>“Where are you coming from?” Geralt asked.</p><p>Jaskier looked up.</p><p>“I was just on my way back south from a nearby-”</p><p>“I’m headed south, too,” Geralt said, surprising himself.</p><p>He hadn’t yet decided on where he was going next. But south was as fine a direction as any, and there were sure to be contracts to work and monsters to kill wherever he went.</p><p>“Oh, good,” Jaskier said, slowly, as if he was confused. Surprised, maybe, that Geralt was actually initiating a conversation for once.</p><p>“Come with me,” Geralt said, surprising himself again.</p><p>From the look on Jaskier’s face, he had surprised him too. Geralt looked away quickly, suddenly feeling quite sheepish.</p><p>“Oh, but of course!” Jaskier burst into a rather blinding grin, “You know, I was <em> just </em> thinking I could use some inspiration, I’m getting tired of playing the same old ballads, and you know it’s not at all the same to make things up than it is to tell <em> real </em> stories.”</p><p>“You still make up all your stories,” Geralt said, trying to fight off the quiet smile that was threatening to appear on his face.</p><p>“Well, it’s easier when there’s a grain of truth to work from,” Jaskier huffed, “And maybe I wouldn’t need to make up so much of them if you’d actually let me see some action once in a while.”</p><p>Geralt huffed a laugh and leaned back against the wooden rim of the tub. Something tense uncurled in his chest. The feeling of unease that had plagued him since the mountain was there, still but… it had lessened. Maybe he had just missed Jaskier, needed to make sure they were crossing paths for longer than just the evening.</p><p>He did realize that this was the first time he had actually <em> invited </em> Jaskier to travel with him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. gestures</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Jaskier's POV is so fun to write from. Just a short chapter today!<br/>Thanks for reading~</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier and Geralt left town the next morning - later than Geralt would have prefered and earlier than Jaskier did - and had been travelling for most of the day. The gray weather had not disappeared, yet, but it had lifted and lightened a little; the dark, low blanket of gray that hung heavy with rain yesterday was now bright and cool and promised dry weather to walk in. The air was still damp, and brought with it the sharp scent of pine and the earthy hum of loam and fog.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So…” Jaskier said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt’s eyes flicked over to Jaskier as he spoke, a question in them. He was riding Roach slow enough that Jaskier could keep pace easily, on roads which were blessedly dry for all last night’s thundering and raining.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How does one go about </span>
  <em>
    <span>losing</span>
  </em>
  <span> an entire drowner corpse?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier knew this was an unwise question, knew it the teasing lilt in his voice was even more unwise. But he was trying something, testing the waters with an errant toe.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Jaskier ran into Geralt at the inn last night, he had been surprised, but not unpleasantly so. Yes, the last time he saw Geralt he had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> pissed off at him, but Jaskier had always found Geralt easy - quite possibly too easy - to forgive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For one, there was all the shit Geralt had to put up with. He was thin on tact and patience, but Jaskier understood why. He would’ve gone crazy if he had to endure an ounce of what Geralt put up with every day - it turns out there are no shortage of dickheads in the world, and when they weren’t hurling abuse at Geralt, they were trying to rip him off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And secondly, Jaskier knew how Geralt, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Words that would’ve been rude from any other man were Geralt’s best attempt at lightheartedness, and his mild annoyance came out downright vicious. Jaskier was trying to work on that, but in the meantime, he was keeping his expectations low. It helped to know how Geralt talked, to calibrate one’s expectations to that instead of what would be considered </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>polite.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the biggest reason Jaskier found Geralt so easy to forgive was the enormous crush he’d been nursing on the witcher ever since they’d met. There was something intoxicating about the combination of angst and muscles and noble-heartedness that made up Geralt, and Jaskier had fallen head-first for him practically instantly. Years of travelling together, and his stupid feelings hadn’t faded a bit. At this point Jaskier would probably commit murder for him if asked. Not that Geralt ever would need anyone’s help with that, but, well-- anyway. It was hard to stay mad at that jawline, and harder still to stay mad at the tragic life it had led.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was funny, Jaskier was </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> the bigger man. But for once, when it came to him and Geralt, he was willing to take the high road, to forgive and forget again and again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But last night, Geralt had actually been… </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not so nice as to not still be </span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because even when Geralt was being nice he was still gruff and to the point - but he had been surprisingly harmonious the entire evening. Jaskier had even managed to talk him into playing a few rounds of Gwent before bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he had been talkative, too, and agreeable, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>invited</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaskier to travel with him. Sure, they’d been going the same way, and it only made sense, and Jaskier would’ve tagged along without the invite, anyway, but, well, Jaskier was only human. Geralt might’ve been fine with mud, ale, and monosyllables, but Jaskier liked to use his words, and appreciated when others did the same. It was nice to know Geralt actually wanted his company.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So... Jaskier was pushing his luck. If Geralt had been surprisingly agreeable last night, maybe he would still be today.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt huffed at his question, but the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck off</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaskier had been expecting didn’t come. Instead the witcher said, simply, “Currents and tides.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier blinked, slowed down a pace as Roach plodded on down the road.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>totally</span>
  </em>
  <span> taking advantage of whatever was making Geralt so talkative. He was going to get as much information out of him as he could on this walk. He jogged a few paces to catch back up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you were where, the ocean?” Jaskier continued to draw out the story.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where it met the river in town,” Geralt said, and then after a moment of deliberation, </span>
  <em>
    <span>continued</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Fishermen had been going missing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, had they?” Jaskier was itching to pull out a notebook and start furiously scribbling. These were only the barest crumbs of the story he was getting, he knew, but to follow the analogy, Geralt had kept him starving for so long even this was enough to get his muse fluttering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So they like the sea, then?” Jaskier continued to ask questions, walking a little faster still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They're called </span>
  <em>
    <span>drowners</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jaskier. Where do you think they live?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, there are plenty of creatures that like the sea but hate fresh water, and vice-versa. Try putting a shark in a pond, see how it fares! Or kicking a frog out into the ocean, or…” He trailed off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt was watching him, eyes scrunched up like he was squinting at something bright, or maybe scowling, or...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you teasing me, witcher?” Jaskier sputtered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You're a wordsmith, you should understand the etymology, shouldn't you?” And wow, he was, the absolute bastard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Etymology?! Where’d you pick up this vocabulary, has it been boring enough without me you’ve had to resort to </span>
  <em>
    <span>reading</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt snorted, and actually fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiled</span>
  </em>
  <span> - a wry, small smile, but it was a smile. “I would never.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So is it true they're the souls of drowned people?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt rolled his eyes, “Dead people make ghosts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And drowners are corporeal enough to behead, right,” Jaskier said. “So they're called drowners not because they were drowned, but because…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt gave him an annoyed look, but took the bait anyway, “Because that's what they do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So that’s why you were soaked from head to toe when you got back!” Jaskier crowed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“None of them tried to drown me,” Geralt said, “I’m not stupid enough to get in the water with a drowner.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you fight them on land where they’re weakest” Oh, this was juicy. “Wait, let me guess, they hate fire, too!” Images of Geralt fighting hordes of drowners with a silver sword in one hand and a torch in the other, driving the beasts back with the flames, leapt to his mind’s eye. This was the most material Geralt had ever given him and he was getting a little excited.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm,” Geralt hummed, and it sounded like a confirmation hum, so Jaskier was feeling rather proud of his deductive skills right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The drowners advanced/And the wolf took his chance/They saw sparks and fled--” Jaskier started, then gave up on the rhyme scheme and tried again with a different cadence, “The beasts feared more than his silver sword/Only the torch in his hand thrust for-ward…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Witchers don’t need torches,” Geralt said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier looked up, “How come?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve seen me use signs before,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, maybe once in a while,” Jaskier said. And now that he thought about it, he had seen Geralt conjure fire before without anything, just the flick of a finger. It was how he preferred to go about lighting their campfires and candles, fickle flints be damned. “You’re telling me a little snap of a finger and a burst of flame is enough to scare off a drowner? Geralt, you’re suddenly making this whole affair much less daring.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt sniffed, “You’ve only seen me use Igni out of combat. I can do much more than make sparks, Jaskier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier felt something like awe or maybe fear thrum in his heart at the thought of Geralt summoning up, gods, he didn’t even know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pillars</span>
  </em>
  <span> of flame, in the midst of battle. “Hold on, how much more… </span>
  <em>
    <span>fiery</span>
  </em>
  <span> are we talking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Much more,” Geralt said, “Enough to give a drowner something to really worry about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, this was so good, how did he not know the extent of Geralt’s powers earlier? And now that he was thinking about it, he still didn’t know all the man could do, he had been aware he’d had some magic but he’d kind of assumed it started and ended with the party tricks of turning fires on and off and calming frightened animals, but, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, clearly witchers were as powerful as they were rumored to be. He almost felt a little betrayed that Geralt hadn’t ever told him, oh, by the way, I could set you on fire with a thought if I wanted to, because I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually magic</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ballads Jaskier could write with a witcher throwing fire like a dragon, oh, the prose nearly wrote itself! And for once, Geralt couldn’t bitch at him about it being made up. Oh, gods, he needed a quill in his hand right now, he had so many </span>
  <em>
    <span>ideas</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>magic</span>
  </em>
  <span> magic!” Jaskier couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice, “I can’t believe you never told me! What else can you do? I know you’ve that shielding thing you do, but now I’m wondering just how strong that gets, too, and your whole, uhh, what’s it called-- blow down people thing, but are you telling me you could </span>
  <em>
    <span>level mountains</span>
  </em>
  <span> with that?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be ridiculous,” Geralt snorted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ridiculous? Because leveling mountains is ridiculous, but creating </span>
  <em>
    <span>walls of fire with your mind </span>
  </em>
  <span>is not ridiculous?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt snorted, “Yes, Jaskier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And at that he turned his attention back to the road, apparently done talking for now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier didn’t push it, he was already distracted by the stanzas he was tossing over in his head, and aware that he’d gotten about a month’s worth of conversation out of Geralt in the span of twenty minutes. What was ordinary shop talk for most people seemed to be exhausting to Geralt, taking an amount of effort comparable to baring one’s soul, and at this rate Geralt might pull a muscle if he wasn’t careful. A conversational muscle. His conversational muscles, after all, must’ve been pretty weak and atrophied to start with, Jaskier reasoned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it was only a little while longer, Jaskier humming under his breath a tune he knew Geralt could still pick up with his enhanced hearing, when Geralt hopped down off Roach and started leading her off of the trail and into the thigh-high undergrowth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, geralt?” Jaskier asked, frozen on the path.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt turned around expectantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are you going?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To make camp,” Geralt gave him a puzzled look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Jaskier was used to spending days on the road, it was true that all the walking still got to him at the end of each day. His feet were tired and his stomach was gnawing at itself uncomfortably, and gods he would love to have a sit down - but the sky was still light. Geralt, with his witcher mutations and stubbornness and - most importantly - horse to ride the entire way, always wanted to go just a little further, shave off just a little more time from the next day’s walk, and the next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he wanted to stop </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We could still walk further, it’ll be light for a little while more,” And shit, Jaskier, don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>argue for more walking</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you moron--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want to go further?” Geralt looked surprised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” Jaskier backpedaled quickly, “Just- well, surprised you don’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt hummed, shrugged, and turned around to lead Roach further into the trees. Jaskier followed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they came out into a clearing in the woods backed by tall moss-speckled boulders and surrounded by the gentle curve of a stream, Jaskier started to think that maybe they were stopping here because Geralt had been here before and knew there was a nice place for a camp nearby. But then that was an odd thought, too, because Geralt really did not care about where he made camp as long as it was not literally underwater or currently under attack, and even within those criteria he was disturbingly lenient.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, at least for today, Jaskier was deciding not to look gift horses in their mouths. And it seemed there had been more gift horses than usual, so he was starting to find the temptation hard to resist. Still. He would not complain about a cozy campsite and a burbling brook.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier quickly made himself useful, unpacking their bedrolls and setting up camp as Geralt went scavenging for firewood. He tucked their bedding up against the large boulder that backed the campsite, hoping the wax canvas he’d slung up over all of it would keep them dry if the rain decided to return. By the time he was done setting up a cozy little sleeping area for the two of them - putting more time and effort into the comfort of it than Geralt ever did - Geralt was back with an armful of fallen sticks and a dead rabbit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’d you find that?” Jaskier asked, impressed, and he had to admit he hadn’t been looking forward to eating cold dry rations tonight, so the rabbit was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> welcome sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Caught it,” Geralt said, simply, dropping his bundle of sticks haphazardly to the ground and kicking them into something like a pile, “You sounded hungry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier struggled to recall if he’d been complaining about how hungry he’d been on the walk. He didn’t think he had been, was well conscious of the fact that he could get annoying quickly, but…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your stomach,” Geralt motioned in the general vicinity of it, “It was grumbling.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier gasped in mock-offense, “It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>polite</span>
  </em>
  <span> to use your witcher-y hearing to listen in on other people’s stomachs!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it polite to catch you dinner?” Geralt raised an eyebrow, and Jaskier was pretty sure Geralt was teasing him again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, of course, very polite! Gentlemanly, even.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt smirked, and then turned his attention back to the pile of sticks that passed for a campfire in witcher-land. Jaskier had learned very early on that Geralt’s fire-building skills were utterly atrocious, but they didn’t need to be when he could set something on fire with a snap instead of sitting around waiting for the kindling to catch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait!” Jaskier said quickly, a little too loud, as Geralt raised a hand to light the fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt looked at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier put his hands on his hips, “If you think you’re going to get away with lighting that fire with your usual little snap and flicker thing, you’re sorely mistaken. I’ve been promised roaring flames, witcher.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” Geralt said, “I would burn the whole forest down,” and lit the fire the usual, unimpressive way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier grumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Geralt bustled back and forth around camp, skinning and dressing their meal and tending to roach, Jaskier huddled himself up by the fire as the sky got increasingly dark and star-speckled. When the meat sizzling over the fire started to smell positively divine, Geralt joined him, sitting close and tossing another log to the fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They ate quietly, watching the fire and the plume of embers and hazy blue smoke it sent up into the dark sky. And when they were tucked up underneath their makeshift tent, Jaskier plucking absentmindedly on his lute, Geralt spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When we get to someplace I can show you, I will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier blinked. He had no idea what Geralt was talking about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Igni,” Geralt said, motioning towards the dying fire. “There are plenty of places I can use its whole force without starting a wildfire. But this is not one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Jaskier said, “Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their campfire sputtered a few last embers into the sky as it slumped down into glowing coals.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, Geralt was being very </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span> today.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made Jaskier feel simultaneously warm and fuzzy, and a little confused.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. sigils</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whew, another long chapter! I didn't know I had it in me, to be honest. Featuring: homoerotic river moments, bonding with your bro, and dragons.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After only a few days, Geralt found he had relaxed into life travelling with Jaskier. It was almost concerning how easy it was to fall back into the rhythm of travel with another person at his side. He had spent so many years on the Path alone, with just Roach and the sky to keep him company. When Jaskier had first begun to travel with him, Geralt had been reluctant to say the least. He knew how fragile humans were, and didn’t want to be responsible for one’s safety. But now their routine was well-worn and comfortable, it came easily to Geralt, and it felt almost comforting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there was still that tension that had been in Geralt’s chest ever since the mountain. It was easy to ignore, most days, and sometimes it felt as if it had gone completely, but it always came back. Usually late at night when Geralt couldn’t sleep, churning in his guts and chewing a hole through his stomach. Like a bruise he kept poking, he kept coming back to it, ruminating on what he’d said to Jaskier. It felt like he was haunted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was odd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had left the woods early in the morning, the landscape around them turning sparse and scrubby as the trails they travelled faded from mud and loam to gravel and dust. Now that the rain had broken, the weather was stiflingly hot and sunny, made only worse by the lack of trees along the trail they were following.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So when they came upon a wide, slow-moving river that cut across the road in front of them, Jaskier shucked off his shirt and dashed so quickly to the water that Geralt could hardly react before he was splashing in up to his shins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier!” Geralt yelled in a voice that was by now too familiar to him - a warning tone brought about by years of living on high alert and close to danger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Jaskier turned around with a laugh in his throat, “We’ve gotta cross it somehow!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There could be--” Geralt cut himself off. The river was slow, wide, shallow. It smelled crisp and clean and blessedly cool. It wasn’t the kind of river to drag men under without a warning, nor was it fetid or boggy enough to make a home for hags and leeches. The dry rolling hills that surrounded them were barren of cover for beasts and bandits to hide behind, and the wind brought only the sound of birds and the smell of hay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt, it’s six inches of water,” Jaskier rolled his eyes. Maybe Geralt didn’t give him enough credit - the bard was impulsive and loud, but to be fair, he was observant enough to know when it was safe to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just- be careful,” Geralt sputtered, dismounting Roach as Jaskier splashed further into the crossing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cool water </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a welcome relief to his tired feet as he stepped in and led Roach gently across the river. The riverbed was made up of tiny stones underneath his feet, glinting and shining like scales under the clear, clean water. Roach bent down to drink from the river as they walked, water slowly reaching up past Geralt’s ankles and wicking into the hems of his pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier was splashing ahead, not a care in the world to how much sound he was making as he gallivanted through the water. Geralt watched him frolic, a small smile willing its way onto his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enjoying yourself?” He asked as he caught up to Jaskier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier had stilled in the deepest part of the river, just standing there, water up to his thighs and his back slightly bent to let his arms trail lazily through the slow current. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh gods, yes! It’s been so blasted hot and sunny I was almost wishing for the rain to come back for a while there. This is just so nice…” Jaskier trailed off, closing his eyes with a contented sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt led Roach onwards, conceding the point to Jaskier. “It’s nice to be out of the heat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He realized too late what a mistake it was to turn his back on Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, but Geralt, you’ve barely dipped your toes in!” Jaskier crowed, and Geralt was getting splashed right in the back with cold water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt jumped a little, he wasn’t proud to admit it, and then swung around to face Jaskier. He was wearing a shit-eating grin, that quickly faltered as Geralt abandoned Roach’s reigns and began to stalk towards him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt--” Jaskier said, a trill of fear in his voice, “Now, listen, I was just--” he backed up, stumbling a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt scooped him up like a sack of flour and dumped him into the river.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier surfaced a moment later, a mess of roiling water and thrashing limbs, spitting out water alongside his laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You absolute bastard! That is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> fair payback!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt grinned. “You think I care about fairness?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Jaskier admitted, standing up, still dripping head-to-toe, “But I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leapt at Geralt, enveloping him in a very efficient bear hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt snorted, a bark of a laugh surprised out of him, “Bard, if you ruin my clothes,” he warned, but there was no bite to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, don’t you complain about </span>
  <em>
    <span>your clothes</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They’re filthy anyways!” Jaskier protested, still wrestling to keep a hold on the witcher. “They could use a wash!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that he went limp, angled and timed just right to overbalance Geralt and pull them both back into the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment they struggled, half-underwater, until Geralt pulled himself upright and free from Jaskier’s grasp, unable to bite back the laugh in his throat, “Alright, I yield!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just trying to help with your laundry,” Jaskier said innocently, still floating neck-deep in the river.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt shook the water out of his hair, struggling to his feet in the stream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably did some good, actually,” He admitted, wiping his face off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you, Jaskier,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Jaskier mimicked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt sent him a glare that was undermined by his grin “Don’t push your luck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt just shook his head, and went to retrieve Roach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had wandered to the opposite bank, nibbling at the green grass trailing over it, still fetlock-deep in the river. Geralt supposed she was enjoying the water as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier waded after him, and took a seat along the shore with his legs dangling into the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breeches were completely soaked - at least he had had the wisdom to take his shirt off before getting into the river. Geralt had had no such foresight, though he supposed he really should’ve anticipated Jaskier’s antics. Water droplets clung to his dump hair, catching the sunlight in them. Geralt spared a moment just to observe Jaskier content, as still as he ever was, not putting on a performance for anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt itched to step out of the stream, get back onto the horse and get going. It was afternoon, the searing sun creeping close enough to the horizon to remind him that the day would end. He knew if they were quick they could make it to the next town before nightfall, but if they weren't they would have to spend another night along the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looked up at Geralt, who realized he’d been spacing out and staring at him the whole time. And then Jaskier patted the grass next to him with a small, almost hesitant smile. “There’s plenty of room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt sat down next to him on the soft grass, mirroring the bard and letting his feet, too, dangle in the slow current.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sighed a sigh that Geralt usually associated with sightings of handsome maidens and beautiful men, but when Geralt glanced to follow his gaze, he was only looking out across the water, a wistful look in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt mirrored him again, watched the sunlight sparkle lazily on the surface of the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt had spent plenty of his time out in the wilderness, was more feral than domesticated at this point, but he rarely took the time to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span>. When he was out in nature, he was hunting dinner, or a basilisk, or potion ingredients. When he was still, it was because he’d been torn up so badly in his last fight he was stuck in bed until he healed, or because he was meditating away the effects of too many potions. Geralt rarely took the time to just appreciate a view, like this. Like it was a piece of art.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was surprised to find he was enjoying the practice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” Geralt said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt raised his hand in the air, tracing a sign quickly through the air on muscle memory alone. With a rush of magic through his bones and a push of his palm, he cast the sigil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sparks and fire rushed out from his hand in a wave in front of him, skittering off of the water and filling the air for just a moment with a flock of embers. A wave of heat and acrid </span>
  <em>
    <span>magical</span>
  </em>
  <span> smoke blew back at them and then after a moment, a flash, the sparks were gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked over to Jaskier, who was staring slack-jawed at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you I would show you sometime,” Geralt explained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier laughed, incredulous and happy, and Geralt didn’t want to forget that sound, reconsidered his stance on accidentally burning down forests if it would make Jaskier laugh so openly and pleasantly surprised like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was amazing!” Jaskier waved his hands, “How…?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Witchers have limited magic capabilities,” Geralt said, “You know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I guess I thought limited meant </span>
  <em>
    <span>limited</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t create portals or anything like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but, I mean, I guess I was translating limited to weak and lame or something,” Jaskier said, then quickly added “No offense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt snorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you- you’re a proper magical being, Geralt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt was surprised by the note of awe and something soft and genuine in Jaskier’s voice. He looked away from him quickly, eyes finding the shimmering water again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat there a while longer - Geralt wasn’t sure how long, his perception of time relaxing along with him - until the breeze picked up and his damp clothes started to get a little too cool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt ran a hand through his hair, wringing a few droplets out of it, “We should go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nodded and stood up, retrieving his shirt and wriggling his way back into it. It wasn’t his usual, delicately-tailored fare. Geralt figured some of his own attitude of function over form must’ve rubbed off on Jaskier, since he had at some point picked up a set of travelling clothes that were loose and utilitarian. He only wore them when he knew they had a long day on the road ahead of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt urged a reluctant Roach up and out of the water, attempting to placate her with a scratch behind the ears, and climbed back up onto the trail. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun didn’t feel as harsh when they continued, and Geralt, much to his surprise, felt relaxed, contented, calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I really don’t see the downside to lighting all your fires like that,” Jaskier says, “It would be much, much cooler.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt rolled his eyes, but not without fondness, “I told you, I don’t want to get chased out of a village for burning down their inn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t it be worth it though? A little bit? For the spectacle, and all that? If I was a witcher, I would be doing stuff like that all the time, just to show off!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good thing you’re not a witcher,” Geralt said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t you just cast another sigil to put it out, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t summon </span>
  <em>
    <span>water</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, sand, then. There are lots of ways to put out fires. Maybe you could just blow on it very hard. With your witcher lung capacity, or something. It’s just foolish to waste your talents like this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don't waste them,” Geralt pointed out, “I use them as intended - to kill monsters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier waved a hand dismissively, “Well, then, at least come up with some decent one-liners while you’re monster-fighting. Have you ever set a cockatrice on fire and then said something funny about roasting a chicken?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt laughed at that, gentle and soft but a laugh all the same. He had missed Jaskier, missed their conversations that fell somewhere between bickering and banter, missed the bard’s unflappable positivity. It was rare that Geralt could relax around someone like he could around Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dark shadow passed over the path in front of them, and fate chose that moment to remind Geralt why witcher’s didn’t relax. With a start, Geralt realized the sound he had been hearing had not been wind running through tree branches, but wingbeats high above them. There </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>no goddamned trees here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Geralt swore, watching the dark, draconic shape in the sky as it glided low ahead of them, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jaskier</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Jaskier was already halfway there, meeting his hand as he reached down to pull him onto Roach’s back before Geralt kicked her flank and jerked her reins to the side, urging her off of the high open path as quickly and quietly as he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that?” Jaskier hissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wyvern,” Geralt said, “It might not have seen us--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a screech from behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t think so,” Jaskier said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Geralt agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt urged Roach faster, searching the horizon desperately for any semblance of cover. He had been so grateful for the expanse of open fields before, how it meant that there were no places for nekkers or wargs to go unnoticed. Now, he was uttering a steady stream of curses at it, because now </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> needed to hide, and there was nowhere for them to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt risked a glance backwards, trying not to unseat Jaskier as he did, and sure enough, there was the wyvern, far too close for comfort and heading straight towards them, a hungry look in its eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Geralt said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wyvern redoubled its efforts, speeding up with another bone-chilling screech, and Roach whinnied, the whites of her eyes flashing with fear. Geralt crouched down closer to her, comforted her and urged her on faster as the panic set in, but it wasn’t enough. A horse couldn’t outrun a wyvern, not out in the open like this, and definitely not with two riders. Her breath was coming fast and shallow, nostrils flared with panic. Geralt was going to have to fight this thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grit his teeth, and pulled up suddenly on the reins, turning Roach and skidding her to a halt. The move was fast enough to give them a few moments advantage as the wyvern overshot them and struggled into a mid-air turn, wings snapping against the wind like sails.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt hopped off of Roach, pulling Jaskier with him before the bard could react. He hoisted Jaskier bodily up and hauled him to the closest thing resembling cover, shoving him quickly down into a low dry gulley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay down, stay quiet,” Geralt said, urgently. Jaskier just nodded his head very quickly, eyes wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roach had already bolted as soon as the wyvern turned back to them, panic setting her running fast and hard off through the field. Geralt just focused on getting his sword out and getting away from Jaskier and her both. The wyvern couldn’t go in three directions at once - and Geralt was going to make sure that he made the biggest target.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wyvern swooped low as Geralt dashed away from Jaskier, talons poised to grab and hook, and Geralt ducked at the last moment he could, slashing upwards with his blade. The blow connected, glancingly, but it was enough to make the wyvern scream, get it mad at him. It wheeled off higher into the sky, trailing a spatter of blood. Geralt just had to put distance between himself and Jaskier now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt pushed himself fast and far, legs burning with exertion, until he could feel the heat of the wyvern’s stinking breath on his neck and hear its wings beating leathery and loud above him. He ducked into a roll as the wyvern swooped again and missed him by a hair’s breadth. He would never be able to fight it while it was in the air. He had to get it down onto the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Readying a sigil, he whipped around to see the wyvern turning, too, teeth bared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sent the Aard out, a wave of invisible force crackling through the air and hitting the wyvern true. It hissed as the magic connected with it, driving the air from its lungs, and fluttered as it fell backwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt wasted no time scrambling to his feet and striking at the beast, taking advantage of the moments it lay stunned. He plunged his blade blindly into its torso as it writhed and struggled, until with a curl of its tail it whipped itself over onto its side, knocking Geralt back so hard he skidded in the dirt. The wyvern struggled to its feet, head whipping around to meet furious draconic eyes with Geralt. It lunged, twisting its head like a battering ram, and smacked Geralt hard onto the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt struggled to right himself, scrabbling away just quickly enough to avoid the cruel talon that stabbed viciously into the spot where he’d been lying moments ago. He twisted away from another gnashing bite, and then swung back with all his weight, sending as much force as he could into a blow against the wyvern’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His sword collided with the tough spines littering the beast’s neck, the blow ringing and reverberating into his hands. He gritted his teeth, but the wyvern reeled back with a snarl, and that was another opening Geralt took advantage of. He shoved into the beast’s shoulder viciously, feeling the blade sink into the meat between its wings and neck. Blood ran down the lines of his blade like field furroughs filling with rainwater, and the wyvern screamed high and horrible and recoiled. Sweat was running into Geralt’s eyes, but he didn’t have a moment to spare. He lunged forwards again, relentless, trying to finish the fight as quickly as he could. But the wyvern whipped its head around too fast, and its teeth landed down on his sword with a clang. Like a dog with a rat, it shook, wrenching the sword from Geralt’s grasp, and the witcher found himself very suddenly unarmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled back, chancing a desperate glance in the direction his sword had been flung in, trying to locate it. He still had his steel sword, but it wasn’t much more help than a butter knife against a beast like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He twisted, casting another burst of telekinetic magic at the wyvern. The point-blank sigil sent the beast reeling with a sound like ribs cracking. Geralt spotted red and silver glinting in the dry grass, and made a desperate sprint for his sword.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Talons connected with his back and he was sent sprawling, falling hard into the dirt and getting a mouthful of grass and gravel for his trouble. He let out a pained huff as the wyvern landed heavily on him. He felt the prick of its claws as they sunk into his back, digging through his armor and into his skin, and felt the breath being pushed from his lungs as the creature’s weight settled on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His sword was lying only an arm’s length away, but he couldn’t reach it, couldn’t move under the crushing weight on top of him. The wyvern pressed harder down onto him, and Geralt felt himself struggling to breathe in. Memories of public executions where criminals were crushed to death between nail-studded planks of wood flashed through his head. He could feel blood running hot down his sides as the wyvern’s talons curled deeper into his back. His breath was coming shallow and hard-earned, head already spinning from the lack of air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he heard a shout, and felt the wyvern jerk suddenly, stumbling long enough for Geralt to suck in a desperate breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, take that you motherfucking piece of--”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He had told Jaskier to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay down</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another rock found its target, hitting the wyvern on the side of its head with a clattering sound. It was enough of a distraction for Geralt to twist up underneath the beast and wriggle free. He nearly cried with relief when his hands met the well-worn handle of his sword. Then he was rolling over and slashing up simultaneously, the blade sinking deep into the wyvern’s breast, leaving a wide bloodied gash in its wake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wyvern rounded on him with a pained roar, and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad</span>
  </em>
  <span> now, but it was also injured. Its second wind wouldn’t last long, but it would be desperate and erratic while it did. Geralt just had to be careful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another rock hit it square in the back of the head, and Geralt looked to the source: Jaskier was standing proud on top of a low hillock, another rock in hand, looking stupidly proud of himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wyvern looked to the source of the rock, too, and growled deep in its chest. It let out a roar, low and bestial and rage-filled and fucking terrifying, and charged at Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier!” Geralt yelled, chasing after it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier turned tail and ran.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course he had to go and piss off the dragon. Of course he was now it’s main target - he was absolutely fucking defenseless, easy prey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wyvern was on top of Jaskier quick, too quick, leaping at him and tangling them both into the dust. Geralt was still chasing after them, and now he was trying to work out how he could kill the wyvern without killing Jaskier in the process. Sign use was out, and he had to be very careful with his sword - if either of them were thrashing too much, he wouldn’t be able to do much of anything without risking Jaskier’s life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his train of thought was abruptly made irrelevant as the wyvern took to the sky, Jaskier dangling precariously from one of its great, curving talons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuuuuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt could feel panic pricking in the back of his throat, lungs burning with the effort of chasing after it, even as he knew he couldn’t catch up. He could only hope that with its injuries, the wyvern wouldn’t be able to gain much altitude, wouldn’t go far, wouldn't drop Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt whistled, and thanked the gods that Roach was such a good horse, because she was at his side in an instant. She must’ve liked Jaskier more than she let on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clambered onto her quick and clumsy and urged her after the wyvern, and there was another stroke of luck for him as the wyvern was starting to drop in the sky, too hurt to fly too long. By the looks of things it was taking Jaskier to its nest, a big gnarl of twigs resting precariously on the edge of a cliff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, girl,” Geralt just about pleaded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roach redoubled her efforts, hooves thundering against the dry ground. Geralt had never pushed her this far before, but she must’ve known from Geralt’s pulled-taught voice and white knuckles on the reins how serious the situation was, as she ran harder and faster than she ever had before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon the wyvern was landing, and Geralt and Roach were only a few dozen paces from it and its nest. He jumped off of Roach, landing into a run, hearing the mixed shrieks of a terrified bard and an angry wyvern ahead of him. He couldn’t risk loosing an arrow or any magic towards the wyvern, not with Jaskier still struggling close-range with it, pinned under its claws. He was almost close enough, almost there, but Geralt knew how much of a difference a few seconds could make, and with a sinking feeling, he realized he was too late. The wyvern was rearing its head up already, jaws wide, teeth glinting in the sunlight, Jaskier helpless beneath it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier!” Geralt cried out, at the same time a dissonant, echoing clang filled the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier had actually smacked the wyvern across the face with his lute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt caught up just in time and swung at the beast’s twisting tail, desperate to turn its attention back to him. He regretted his wish as quickly as he got it - the beast spun around, and its huge, venom-barbed tail smacked Jaskier right in the chest, sending the bard skidding towards the cliff’s edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt couldn't even get a chance to see if he was okay because then the wyvern was in front of him, muzzle twisted into a snarl, mouth open wide and coming at him fast. Geralt could smell its rotting breath, see saliva stringing along its jagged teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thrust the sword up forwards and true, and felt bone crunch under it - first the upper palate, then the nasal bones, and then the braincase as the blade hit its target.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wyvern slumped over with a gurgle and a trickle of blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt left the sword still buried in its maw, and ran to the edge of the cliff. He couldn’t see Jaskier, fucking hell, how far was the drop?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt!” Jaskier shouted, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank the gods</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt scrambled down to his knees, reaching out to grab Jaskier’s hand where it clung desperately to a rock jutting from the cliff’s edge. His hands slipped on blood - Jaskier’s blood, he realized with a sick feeling - until he dug his nails in and heaved the bard up and over the cliff’s edge with all of his weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt collapsed backwards, clutching Jaskier to him, breathing hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt,” Jaskier said, unsteadily, “That might have been a little too much excitement for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he passed out.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. poison</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Jaskier has a bad time. And I finally have the end in sight, so I can give y'all a proper chapter count! Just one more after this one 👀</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier came to in Geralt’s arms, sticky with sweat and monster saliva and - fuck - blood.</p><p>“Geralt!” He yelped, clutching to the witcher who was half-carrying, half-dragging him through the field.</p><p>“Wyvern’s dead,” Geralt said, “Shh.”</p><p>Jaskier felt his breath coming quick, pain twinging sharp in his chest each time it rose and fell. “I think it got me,” he said, trying and failing to keep the fear from his voice.</p><p>“You think?” Geralt growled, and that didn’t make Jaskier feel any better.</p><p>“What happened? Am I okay? Are <em> you </em> okay?!” Jaskier asked, voice high as Geralt lowered him to the ground. Jaskier’s hands flitted to the blood staining Geralt’s sides, brow furrowing in concern.</p><p>“I’ve had worse,” Geralt said, taking Jaskier’s head roughly between his hands and staring searchingly into his eyes.</p><p>“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, anxiety and nausea twisting collaboratively in his stomach.</p><p>“Need to see if you got any of the venom,” Geralt said, hiking Jaskier’s shirt up his chest to reveal a stretch of quickly-bruising skin.</p><p>“<em> Venom </em>?!” Jaskier squeaked, “You didn’t tell me they have venom--” another wave of dizziness cut him off, and for a moment Jaskier felt like he was going to pass out again.</p><p>“I didn’t have much time,” Geralt growled, poking and pawing at Jaskier’s rather tender middle, his fingertips rough and calloused against the soft skin, “I figured I didn’t have to list off the specific reasons <em> why </em> you needed to stay away from the goddamned wyvern.”</p><p>“Hey, I wasn’t just fucking around because I felt like it!” Jaskier protested, and winced at the sharp pain that shot through his chest as he did, “You were about to get your own fatal dose of wyvern teeth, I saw you! You were all helpless and wriggling!”</p><p>“How do you feel?” Geralt asked, eyes flicking back up to meet Jaskier’s.</p><p>“Well, incredibly worried, now that you’ve mentioned the fucking <em> venom </em>--” Geralt growled at him, “And, uh, kind of like I want to throw up.”</p><p>“Anything else?” Geralt asked, jaw tensing.</p><p>“I’m kind of faint, I guess. A-a little dizzy earlier, but it’s passed--”</p><p>Geralt pressed the side of his head up against Jaskier’s chest, the sudden tickle of long white hair across his skin making him jump.</p><p>“Breathe deep.”</p><p>Jaskier did. Or, he tried to. The breath caught and stuck in his throat like honey.</p><p>“Fuck,” Geralt growled, and pulled back, face dark and grim.</p><p>“Geralt…?” Jaskier asked, feeling fear start to thrum quick through his heart.</p><p>“The venom isn’t fast-acting,” Geralt said, and great, that was a really reassuring statement.</p><p>“Oh, so it’ll kill me slowly?! Good!”</p><p>“It won’t kill you,” Geralt said, but there was a disturbingly concerned look in his eyes as he stood and made a beeline for Roach’s saddlebags. “I can make an antidote.”</p><p>Jaskier groaned, and threw up on the ground. He was faintly aware of Geralt rustling through something as his head pounded and his lunch evacuated him.</p><p>Geralt returned just in time to pat him hard on the back as he coughed up the last of his stomach contents, which were mixed with a worrisome amount of blood.</p><p>“So, Geralt, about this antidote?” Jaskier said weakly, looking up at Geralt.</p><p>Geralt’s face twisted. Jaskier felt his heart sink.</p><p>“You <em> do </em>have the ingredients?” Jaskier whimpered.</p><p>“The nearest town has an herbalist,” Geralt grit out.</p><p>“You can’t make it?!”</p><p>“I <em> can </em>,” worry was not a look Geralt wore well, and he seemed to be rather resentful about its presence, “I just don’t have what I need on hand.”</p><p>“How far is this town?” Jaskier was collapsing in on himself with dread, a sick feeling crawling up the back of his throat.</p><p>“A few hours. We’ll get there with plenty of time,” Geralt’s gruff tone faltered on the last few words, and he almost sounded like he was trying to sound cheerful, or confident, or something -  like he was trying to reassure Jaskier. It would be a hilarious thought, Geralt attempting to play the optimistic one, if the circumstances weren’t so dire and Geralt wasn’t such a bad actor.</p><p>Geralt hauled Jaskier up onto Roach without another word, and Jaskier found himself grimly silent as Geralt tucked in behind him, one hand on Roach’s reins and the other holding him tight.</p><p>“You’ll be alright,” Geralt said, softly, tenderly, in a tone Jaskier had never heard from Geralt - like he was comforting an injured animal.</p><p>Jaskier realized, unhappily, that Geralt was.</p><p>Their ride passed by in a sickly blur. Jaskier did his best to stay upright as Geralt urged Roach as fast as she could go down the road, the movement of her jostling Jaskier and making his bones ache with each hoofbeat.</p><p>He spent the ride staving off a myriad of unpleasant feelings, panic being the worst one. Whenever Geralt heard his breath start to quicken and saw tears pricking in his eyes, he instructed Jaskier to breathe slowly and deeply, through his nose. It only helped a little, because breathing made him aware of the way his lungs burned and ached and struggled, and when the panic got under control then he could feel the nausea rolling through his stomach and the dizziness fogging his head. Jaskier imagined he could feel the venom running through his system - he knew enough of how poisons like this worked to get the gist of what was happening to him. It was in his bloodstream, slowly settling itself into every bit of his body, turning his guts inside-out and clamping down hard on his lungs, overwhelming his senses until he didn’t even feel <em> pain, </em> exactly, he just felt sick and horrible and miserable. He was too hot and too cold and seasick and sweaty. He was starting to understand how it was that men could be in enough anguish to honestly yearn for the escape of death. Maybe he was being a touch dramatic, but he really fucking felt awful. </p><p>And Geralt, curse him, was disturbingly silent the whole ride, jaw clenched grimly, eyes hardened into a very purposefully neutral glare.</p><p>When they made it to town it was past sunset, the sky barely holding on to the last lavender light of the day, and Jaskier barely holding onto consciousness. He was faintly aware that he was getting worse, as Geralt dragged him off of roach and settled him onto some bed somewhere, but mostly he couldn’t focus on anything but breathing and trying to make it through the frankly awful ordeal of just enduring the venom.</p><p>“I’ll get what we need,” Geralt said quickly, retreating from the edge of the bed and going to the door. He lingered, hovered, a moment, looking tense, before leaving and letting the door slam behind him.</p><p>Jaskier winced at the noise, and then very quickly realized he did not want to be alone right now.</p><p>Some stupid part of him that was usually a small, quiet thing was very loud now, and it was needy and clingy and it wanted Geralt by his side, wanted to be near someone, someone <em> safe </em> and <em> strong </em> and <em> home. </em>Alone, he could think, worry, feel every throb of pain coming from the bruises across his chest and the venom searing through his veins. He wanted to be by Geralt, feel his steadfast presence.</p><p>He groaned. Leave it to him to get beaten to a pulp by a dragon, lying half-dead from its venom, and still be thinking about his stupid crush.</p><p>But, stupid as it was, he had felt safe in Geralt’s arms, pressed against his chest. And while the ride had been miserable, he had found himself believing Geralt’s reassuring words, letting go, letting the witcher take care of him and save him. Now, in the dim, empty room, he was unmoored, untethered. He was aware of how helpless he was, and he missed the way that Geralt had anchored him, grounded him and quelled the anxiety rising high in his throat.</p><p>He spared a moment to curse his short lifespan, growing shorter by the second. Between the panic, existentialism, and yearning running through his veins, he was wishing he had confessed his feelings to Geralt long ago, at least for the sake of having gotten them off of his chest. He was sure the other man didn’t feel the same, but, fuck, Jaskier just wanted him to <em> know </em>, didn’t want to take his affections to the grave - it wasn’t something he was inclined to do, hide his heart away, and now he was regretting ever doing it, because what if Geralt didn’t find the antidote and didn’t come back in time and didn’t know how much Jaskier--</p><p>Jaskier convulsed once, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. He was definitely getting worse. His breath was coming shorter and shallower by the minute, and he knew it wasn’t the panic doing it. He had to wrestle for each rattling lungful, and could feel his heart beating far too fast in his temples and his chest.</p><p>And then, thank the gods, the door to the room burst open, and there Geralt was, eyes and hair wild and tangled, the large knapsack that Jaskier knew was his alchemy bag clutched tight in one hand.</p><p>“Did you…?” Jaskier asked, and his voice came out weaker and hoarser and far more unsteady than he had expected.</p><p>“I have what I need,” Geralt said, crossing the room in quick wide strides to place a handful of herbs and vials on the nearby table and rustle quickly through his reagent bag. “I just have to mix it up, okay?”</p><p>“Okay,” Jaskier said, curling himself further into the bed and starting to shiver. “You know, I never doubted you for a second, Geralt - though I was just reflecting on how I was far too young to die…” Jaskier found the urge to babble springing forth, and didn’t have the energy to deny it, “So I’m really very glad you’re back.”</p><p>Geralt growled something, and while Jaskier couldn’t see him from where he was, he could hear the witcher working, clinking glass together and shuffling around. Jaskier could smell a sharp, herbal tang in the air.</p><p>“Is that antidote thing going to taste terrible?” He asked, head swimming, trying to focus on the dusty cobwebs trailing above him. “You know, you could’ve picked up some honey while you were out, make it go down easier.”</p><p>Geralt didn’t reply, just kept working. It almost sounded like he was rushing - or maybe Geralt had always been a fantastically clumsy apothecary, and Jaskier was only now noticing - as he loudly clanked vials together and ground herbs and smashed things.</p><p>And then he was at Jaskier’s side, clutching a vial of something green-blue and semi-transparent in his hand.</p><p>“Here,” Geralt said, and gently helped Jaskier up until he was sitting, wedging a pillow behind his back, “drink.”</p><p>Jaskier didn’t need to be told twice. He gulped down the offered potion, and it <em> did </em> taste terrible, bitter as hell and tangy like vinegar and yet still reminding him quite a bit of dirt. But it also brought with it a relief that was palpable, as Jaskier swallowed it in one draught before slumping back onto the bed, letting his rapid breathing slow back down to normal.</p><p>Geralt sat down beside him, the lumpy straw mattress dipping under his weight.</p><p>Jaskier still felt nauseous, and dizzy, and he was still having trouble breathing, but he could tell it was all getting better, in tiny increments. The potion burned warm down his stomach and throat, not unlike a good spirit would, and Jaskier could feel the claws of the poison slowly unwrap themselves from around his chest.</p><p>When Jaskier finally moved, it was to slump gratefully against Geralt.</p><p>“Geralt, tell me - because I feel much better-equipped to know, now - was there a chance I could’ve fought the poison off on my own?”</p><p>Geralt shifted tensely under his shoulder, and Jaskier prepared to pull away, curl back into the pillows, but then Geralt was wrapping an arm almost gingerly around him, pulling him closer.</p><p>“There was a chance,” Geralt said, sounding nearly as tired as Jaskier felt, chin just barely touching the top of Jaskier’s head when he opened his mouth to speak, “A slim one.”</p><p>“Ah,” Jaskier said.</p><p>The fear from earlier was sloughing off of him in bits and pieces, crumbling away to leave him feeling trembling and raw. Jaskier let out a shaky exhale, half incredulous laughter and half fear. </p><p>“Good thing the herbalist had what you needed.”</p><p>After a few more moments like this - Jaskier curled awkwardly up in Geralt’s arms, still shivering slightly from either the adrenaline or the antidote - Geralt shifted underneath him.</p><p>“I left the rest of our belongings with Roach,” He said slowly.</p><p>At the hint, Jaskier sat up slowly, leaning away from Geralt and back into the pillows. He still felt shaky, but better. He was coming back to himself like the tide, rushing back into the spaces that had been emptied by terror and pain. It was a gradual process, but he was getting back to whole, bit by bit.</p><p>He still didn’t want Geralt to go, didn’t like the idea of being alone, missed the comforting warmth of Geralt’s arms around him, but he was feeling resilient enough to push those thoughts away. Geralt had more important things to do than cuddle a bard just because he still felt a little bad.</p><p>“I’ll get you some food,” Geralt said before he left.</p><p>Thankfully, he wasn’t gone long. A hazy handful of minutes later and Geralt was creeping back into the room, cautious, as if Jaskier might have drifted off and he was scared to wake him.</p><p>“I’m not sleeping,” Jaskier said, “No need to be quiet.”</p><p>“It’s late,” Geralt replied, “perhaps you should be.”</p><p>Jaskier struggled to sit up a bit straighter on the bed, “I was promised food,” he pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. The move seemed to placate Geralt, convince him that Jaskier really was back to his old self - or at least on the way.</p><p>“You might not be able to keep much down,” Geralt warned, settling back down on the bed.</p><p>Jaskier took the offerings - a waterskin and soft, plain bread - and ate and drank slowly. Exhaustion was starting to sink into his bones well and truly - but it wasn’t the exhaustion of poison slowly shutting down his body, just the tiredness to be expected after a long hard day of nearly getting killed.</p><p>Geralt made his way to the other end of the room, and poked at the fire. Jaskier watched the slumped line of his shoulders as he tossed another log onto it, and burst a swarm of embers from their nest to flutter up the chimney.</p><p>It still hadn’t quite sunken in how close to death he had gotten - and at the same time, it still hadn’t sunken in that he was okay, and alive, and would continue to be, barring any more tragedies.</p><p>As the fire dimmed, Jaskier gradually realized just how tired he was. He tucked himself under the bedsheets, rough and threadbare, and curled up, chasing that delicious siren song of sleep. But the thrum of his own mortality was still running through his chest and his wrists. </p><p>“Geralt,” Jaskier spoke up, so low he thought Geralt might not hear him, but of course he did.</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>Jaskier trembled to spit out the words, “I can’t…” he sighed, trailing off. He wasn’t sure what to say. <em> I can’t be alone right now even if you’re only at the other end of the room</em>, <em> I’m tired and fragile and I need someone to hold me, I love you </em>.</p><p>Geralt didn’t seem to need more, though, and he padded over to the bed, lay down next to him, stretched out on his back beside Jaskier.</p><p>“You’re okay, Jaskier,” Geralt said, finally.</p><p>“Yeah,” Jaskier said, “I know, I just-” he bit his tongue, “Thank you.”</p><p>Geralt snorted derisively, “What are you thanking me for?”</p><p>“For saving my life, asshole!” Jaskier said, rolling over to slap blindy in the direction of the witcher’s prone form.</p><p>“What was I to do, leave you there to deal with it on your own?” Geralt asked, and there was that almost-maybe-teasing tone again. Jaskier wished he could make out his face in the darkness, wondering what he would see playing across it.</p><p>“Well, I should hope not,” Jaskier said primly, then let his voice drop back down to a timid, quiet admission “I just… I was scared.”</p><p>“You weren’t the only one,” Geralt said.</p><p>“So: thanks for saving me,” Jaskier said, again. “I--” and fuck it, he should just spit it out, “And I <em> was </em> terrified, but I knew you would save me, like you always do.” He let out a shaky breath, “But… when you left me here, to go get the herbs, I was… it was stupid, but I was so scared, and I knew you were fine and you were going to get me what I needed but I just - being around you, it… it calmed me. It made me feel safe, I guess. <em> You </em>make me feel safe. I know you would never leave me to deal with the poison on my own, but it wasn’t just your help that, er, helped? If that makes sense? It was just you. I’m glad you were there - are here - it’s-- I would’ve been a lot more scared if I didn’t have you, you know?” The tiredness was robbing his words of any and all of their usual elegance - Jaskier wasn’t sure how much sense he was making. “Thank you.”</p><p>In the darkness, he could barely make out the glint of dying firelight reflected in Geralt’s eyes, but he knew the witcher could see him clearly even in the dim, and he could feel the weight of his gaze upon him.</p><p>“I should write you a song,” Jaskier whispered. “It would make a fantastic ballad - the heroic witcher saves the bardic damsel in distress.”</p><p>“Go to sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt said gently.</p><p>Jaskier did.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. clarity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt apologizes, finally.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Finally, she is finished! I had a hell of a time writing this chapter, but I'm really happy with how it turned out - I hope y'all like it as well!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Geralt woke, it was early, just the barest glow of pre-dawn light filling the small room. He turned over quickly with a jolt of alarm - but Jaskier was right there beside him, chest slowly rising and falling as he slept.</p><p>Geralt felt the worry wash cool over him and fade away, an aftershock of the fear that had gripped him yesterday as the venom was working its way into Jaskier’s system. He reminded himself as he awoke fully that it was okay, everything had ended up okay.</p><p>It was funny how black and white, how sudden, these things could be. One moment, Jaskier was in mortal peril, the next, he was sleeping calm and soft as ever next to Geralt, warmth radiating from him, drooling into his pillow.</p><p>It was not unusual for Geralt to wake up before Jaskier. Usually he spent these early-morning hours finding breakfast, tending to roach, cleaning his armor and organizing his supplies until Jaskier was finally up. But Jaskier had seemed so… shaken last night, curled up close to him and shivering occasionally in his sleep as the last of the venom worked its way out of him. The man was usually loud, boisterous, confident. But last night, unsteadily asleep, he had seemed fragile and breakable, a downed bird.</p><p>So Geralt did not get out of bed like he usually did, but stayed there, stayed by Jaskier’s side, and found himself for the second time in as many days simply being still. He watched Jaskier in the lavender light, let his thoughts filter aimlessly through the last twelve hours, came to terms with the horrible knowledge of how it had felt to see Jaskier dying, thanked the gods he hadn’t.</p><p>Jaskier looked peaceful as he slept. Sometime in the night the tossing and turning had faded to stillness and he had finally fallen into a deep sleep, one which he certainly would need. While he was slack and relaxed now, his hair was still matted together and stuck to his neck with dried sweat. Jaskier would wake up not only to the aches and pains and the low painful hum of the bruises he’d earned, but to something like a bad hangover - the side effects of the unpleasant process of detoxification and the antidote’s own behavior. Geralt found himself reaching out, gently and cautiously, to untangle Jaskier’s hair, pry it apart so it wasn’t stuck up against his neck and his temples. He combed through it with his fingertips until it was soft and loose against his hands. </p><p>Jaskier stirred under him, and Geralt snatched his hand away quickly, but Jaskier was only nuzzling further into the pillows, still asleep.</p><p>Geralt found himself wondering if Jaskier was only this relaxed because of <em> his </em> presence. Jaskier had said something to that effect last night, or had tried to, tangling around it rather incoherently. He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought that Jaskier found him so comforting to be around, and yet he had never before stayed with him until he woke, always disappearing in the morning.</p><p>The thought was silly, of course, because they were only friends, barely friends if that, business partners really. He shouldn’t be thinking of waking up alongside Jaskier, or waiting for Jaskier to wake up alongside him.</p><p>But he was.</p><p>He chewed on the thought for a while, as he lay there in the dark, head tilted towards Jaskier to watch him in the dim light.</p><p>As he traced his unguarded silhouette, he felt rather unbearably <em> fond </em>.</p><p>All at once, he realized what he had been feeling for so long, what had kept him coming back to the memory of that day on the mountain like a sore tooth, kept him tense in the day and up at night. It was guilt, the same guilt that he felt at the thought of getting up and leaving now, of letting Jaskier wake vulnerable and alone. </p><p>But it was also that <em> fondness </em>that ran underneath it, made it feel so potent. It was a poisonous mixture. He knew it couldn’t be guilt that made him want to curl himself, protective, around the sleeping bard. Knew it wasn’t guilt that kept Geralt coming back to Jaskier again and again. Knew he wouldn’t feel half as bad for driving Jaskier off if he didn’t like him so very much.</p><p><em> I should write you a song </em> , Jaskier had said, as if every one of his songs was not already about Geralt. But maybe he had really meant to write a song <em> for </em> him, not <em> about </em> him this time.</p><p>Jaskier had said he felt <em> safe </em> near Geralt. It was a bit of a no-brainer: Geralt had two swords and a not-insubstantial amount of magic ability to his name, so obviously he was a safe place to be, provided you were on his good side - but that wasn’t what Jaskier had meant, was it?</p><p>Maybe Jaskier had been talking about the feeling that was curling in Geralt’s chest right now, the calmness that he felt when he watched Jaskier quiet and unbothered and peaceful. The thing that stopped him from getting up, kept him at his side and wrapped up around him like a spiderweb - soft and gentle and impossible to shake off.</p><p>Geralt wondered what that song Jaskier had been talking about would sound like. Maybe he’d even been starting to write it in his head before he drifted off - Jaskier did that a lot, and didn’t always seem to realize when he was mumbling and humming aloud to himself. Geralt thought, privately, that he might like to hear whatever song Jaskier had been planning.</p><p>Shit. Jaskier’s <em> lute </em>. </p><p>Geralt sat up, scanning the room. But he had brought in all of their belongings last night, and the lute wasn’t among them, then or now. Jaskier had hit the wyvern over the head with it, it must’ve been back at its nest - if it was even still in one piece.</p><p>Geralt felt another pang of guilt for losing the lute, and then felt stupid for feeling guilty. It was just a lute, and a worthwhile sacrifice if it meant saving Jaskier’s life. But it was Jaskier’s lute, and Jaskier would no doubt make the saddest face when he found out it was gone, and Geralt’s heart was weak, so fucking weak, for Jaskier, and somehow he was only just now realizing this. That lute was special to Jaskier, and Jaskier was special to Geralt, and Geralt could get it back.</p><p>For a moment he hesitated, torn between the pull to go retrieve the lute as soon as he could, and the urge to stay at Jaskier’s side.</p><p>But if he could get the lute back, maybe that would be enough. Maybe that would be the thing that made the sour memory of his words on the mountain fade away. Geralt wasn’t great with apologies, he was self-aware enough to know this. Still, this was… something he could do. It was close. A start, he hoped.</p><p>Quickly, quietly, he slid out of bed and went to the stables.</p><p> </p><p>By the time he returned, the sun was slanting bright in the sky, the morning well and truly broken. The nighttime chill was seeping quickly from the air, and Geralt tossed an apologetic apple to Roach as he left her in the stables.</p><p>Geralt tried to be quiet as he crept back into the room, but the door creaked rather horribly as he closed it behind him.</p><p>Jaskier was still in bed, but he shifted at the noise, rolling onto his side to stare groggily up at Geralt. </p><p>“Geralt?” He slurred, rubbing his eyes.</p><p>Geralt felt nervousness bubble up in his stomach. He was never good at things like this.</p><p>“Where’ve you been?” Jaskier groaned, pulling himself upright and then wincing at the movement.</p><p>“I had to go get something,” Geralt said, and handed the lute to Jaskier.</p><p>Jaskier blinked, sleepily.</p><p>“If you’re requesting a song this early in the morning, after all I’ve gone through, I’m sorry to say I might not be up to the task...” Jaskier looked dubiously at the instrument.</p><p>Geralt huffed, “No. I- went back to get it. You lost it in the fight.”</p><p>Jaskier’s eyes widened, “Oh,” he said, and took the lute as if he was just now remembering hitting a wyvern over the head with it. He turned it over in his hands, scuffed and speckled with blood but overall intact, save a string or two.</p><p>“How?” Jaskier asked, then shook his head, “No, I know how, that’s not hard to figure out. But <em> why </em>?” Jaskier asked, staring up disarmingly sharply into Geralt’s eyes.</p><p>Geralt felt another rather novel emotion as his cheeks warmed. Witchers didn’t blush, but that didn’t mean their bodies couldn’t <em> try </em>. “You like that lute,” he shrugged, “it’s not easy to find fine elven instruments.”</p><p>Jaskier scrunched his face up, “But, I mean, it’s still just a lute.”</p><p>“It’s your lute,” Geralt said.</p><p>Jaskier smiled, <em> grinned </em>. </p><p>“How are you feeling?” Geralt asked, motioning vaguely towards Jaskier’s midsection where he knew bruises were blooming black and yellow-green. </p><p>“Well, like I got my ass thoroughly handed to me,” Jaskier said, scraping a hand down his face and leaning back against the headboard. Geralt careful sat down on the bed, watching him, “But I must say, there’s something about a near-death experience that makes even the aches and pains much sweeter. I see why you go in for this kind of stuff.”</p><p>The words surprised a laugh from Geralt’s throat.</p><p>Jaskier swallowed, turning the lute over in his lap and tracing his fingers along its neck, “Thanks for the lute, Geralt. Just so you know, I really am very happy to have her back. I just… I’m surprised you’d go through the trouble. I know you don’t care to pay much attention to fine differences in tone and fullness.”</p><p>Geralt didn’t say that he <em> did </em> pay attention, that his hearing was witcher-sharp and he listened to Jaskier’s songs much more closely than he pretended to.</p><p>“Did you spend all morning going back to get this?” Jaskier asked.</p><p>Geralt was tugging his boots off to sit more comfortably alongside Jaskier. He shrugged, feeling suddenly very interested in the worn floorboards. He found himself fiddling with the fraying edge of a blanket, picking at the pilling wool. That heat in his cheeks returned, not guilt this time so much as - embarrassment?</p><p>This was supposed to be the easy part, apologizing.</p><p>“Geralt,” Jaskier narrowed his eyes and watched him, “Why are you being so nice to me?”</p><p>“I’m not,” Geralt knew it was a lie.</p><p>Jaskier waggled a finger at him, “You are being nice to me,” he accused, “You’ve been being nice to me since we met after that drowner job of yours, and you just keep doing it!”</p><p>Geralt sputtered.</p><p>Undeterred by his silence, Jaskier continued, “You have been! I mean, I don’t mind, but it’s so out of character, I’m starting to get a little worried. Are you dying, Geralt? Am <em> I </em> dying?”</p><p>This was enough to shake Geralt out of his speechlessness, “What? No. Of course not.”</p><p>“Well, what then?” Jaskier seemed to deflate.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Geralt said.</p><p>Jaskier blinked.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>Geralt forced himself to meet Jaskier’s eyes this time, “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “that’s why I’m… being nice.”</p><p>The shifting, knotted-up feeling in his chest started to unfurl as he spoke. The aftertaste of it still echoed sour in his stomach, but it felt like a weight had been lifted. It felt good to apologize.</p><p>“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier said, soft “Whatever for?”</p><p>“That day on the mountain,” Geralt said with a hot flash of shame.</p><p>“Oh, you mean when you threw a temper tantrum, took all your anger out on me, and then left me to fend for myself the whole way back down?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow.</p><p>Geralt put his head in his hand, rubbing his temples, “Yes,” he groaned, “I shouldn’t’ve said that to you, it was stupid and wrong--”</p><p>He was cut off by a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“Geralt, really, there’s nothing to worry about,” Jaskier smiled wryly, “You’ve done far worse to me. When we first met, you punched me in the stomach, remember?”</p><p>“I’m sorry for that, too,” Geralt said, too quickly.</p><p>Jaskier tried and failed to stifle a surprised laugh at that, “Well, I hope you know I’d already forgiven you for all that.”</p><p>Jaskier’s eyes were soft, gently amused but not mocking, just playful, open. Geralt felt the tension in his chest bleeding away to relief, and there again was that feeling of calm fondness that Jaskier’s presence seemed to bring.</p><p>“I know,” Geralt said after a long moment, “Or guessed - you didn’t tell me to fuck off when we met again,” he scraped a hand over his face. It was <em> hard </em> putting his feelings into words, “I just… <em> sorry</em>.”</p><p>“Hey,” Jaskier said, hand still warm against his shoulder as he gave it a pat, “I get it. I appreciate it, really. It’s nice of you to use your words, even if I’d’ve just as soon forgiven and forgot.”</p><p>It was Geralt’s turn to ask, “Why?”</p><p>Jaskier looked caught-off guard, face reddening.</p><p>“Well,” he sputtered, “I know what you’ve gone through, I get that you haven’t had many chances to practice good social graces, unlike <em> me </em>…”</p><p>Geralt rolled his eyes.</p><p>“But, um…” Jaskier fiddled with his hands, “If I must be honest… it’s hard not to forgive someone you… er--” he swallowed, “...who you, uh--”</p><p>It wasn’t often that Jaskier tripped over his words so thoroughly. Geralt raised an eyebrow, attempting to tease, but his heart was doing something altogether different, something warm and terrifyingly vulnerable seeping into it.</p><p>“I mean, who you- ugh, <em> fuck it </em>-” Jaskier growled and they were sitting close enough together that Geralt could taste his frustration on the air.</p><p>And then Jaskier kissed him.</p><p>It was sloppy, unpracticed, neither one of them sure how they should fit together. Their teeth clacked and noses mashed against each other, until Geralt’s brain caught up, and he tipped his head to the side, raised a hand cautious and gentle and flighty to cup Jaskier’s jaw, and they slotted into place like fingers intertwining. Jaskier’s skin was warm and lovely under Geralt’s palm, just roughened by the stubble of a few days on the road, and his hands were soft where they rested - one still on Geralt’s shoulder, sliding up to his neck, the other gentle on his hip. The kiss deepened, and Geralt could taste the bitter after-effects of the antidote still on Jaskier’s tongue, sharp and stale. He couldn’t bring himself to care all that much - he was lost in the feeling of Jaskier’s hair tangling through his fingers, of Jaskier’s hand gentle on the back of his neck.</p><p>They broke apart, Jaskier’s breath puffing quickly into the space between them.</p><p>“Jaskier, what was that earlier about using your words?” Geralt said with a quirk of his lips.</p><p>“Oh, shut up, you don’t even like words!” Jaskier gave him a limp smack across the chest, “You know I’ve fancied you for ages.”</p><p>“I did not,” Geralt said.</p><p>“Oh, well, then…”</p><p>Geralt caught him in another kiss. Something in his heart kicked far too fast and far too giddy.</p><p>This time Geralt broke away first, leaning back across the bed.</p><p>“Lay back down,” he patted the spot next to him.</p><p>“Geralt, if you’re planning on <em> bedding </em> me anytime soon, you’ll have to be very careful - you would not believe the bruises I’ve got growing on me.”</p><p>Geralt snorted, “I’m sure I would. But I was thinking only of the traditional use for it. You need to rest.”</p><p>Jaskier seemed to consider this, and then laid back gingerly, close to Geralt but still not touching him, though unlike every other time they shared like this, they were face-to-face, eye-to-eye.</p><p>“Are you really planning on having a nap?” Jaskier asked, “Shouldn’t you be out looking for contracts or oiling your swords or something?”</p><p>Geralt hummed consideringly, “Later,” he said quietly.</p><p>He tugged Jaskier against himself gently, pulling him into another kiss and tossing an arm around his middle, letting their legs intertwine.</p><p>Jaskier didn’t seem to mind at all, letting out a low content sound that Geralt found he <em> loved </em> before pulling back and smiling up at Geralt. Geralt’s heart was full of that warm softness; so, so full.</p><p>“I could get used to this,” Jaskier said. Geralt was thrilled and terrified by how close they were, by the way Jaskier looked at him fondly, by the way he noticed so much more like this - the flecks of gray in Jaskier’s eyes and the tired dark semicircles gathering under them.</p><p>Geralt kissed him again, just because he could.</p><p>“You tossed and turned last night,” Geralt said, nosing into Jaskier’s neck “I… I wanted to hold you.”</p><p>Jaskier smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled upwards, and he wriggled closer, curling his body into all of the negative spaces between the two of them.</p><p>“I would’ve liked that,” he said.</p><p>“Do you like this?” Geralt asked.</p><p>“Gods, yes,” Jaskier breathed, hand curling into Geralt’s shirt without purpose, simply resting there.</p><p>Touching Jaskier like this, just being <em> close </em>, sunk that calm fondness deep into Geralt’s bones, and he basked in it, revelled in it, every point of contact between them another focus point, grounding Geralt into the warmth between them. They stayed like that a long time, holding and being held, tangled in each other, until Geralt could hear Jaskier’s breath evening out, feel him relaxing deeper against him and fall back asleep.</p><p>It wasn’t long until Geralt found himself slipping into sleep alongside him.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>